


Quiet

by orphan_account



Category: Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Masturbation, Other, kinda sorta a female oc, vaguely poetic and flowery language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett hates inconveniences. But he has an unhealthy love for danger and it strikes him when and where it wants to. He is in love with the idea of silence, and with himself and combined with the scented air in the House of Blossoms, there's really nothing better for setting the mood for a night of self love and risky indulgences...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> AN: So I haven't written any slash for a while and thought it might be fun. Didn't really edit this as I rarely do with oneshots but it was a great little exercise anyway. As for content, even though I headcannon Garrett as being asexual I don't see any reason why he wouldn't have an active libido (especially after a year asleep) and for that matter kinks and fetishes. So it wasn't difficult for me to imagine that perhaps he gets off trying to be quiet, in dangerous place while being on a job and such. It might be that I'll expand this into a mini-series of oneshots exploring potential kinks of Garrett's in the futre. If you like this and you like that idea, let me know and maybe I'll write some more~

To say that Garrett hated inconveniences was an understatement. They got in the way of work, and therefore money and therefore anything to be found remotely interesting. Greed was his sole motivator. But occasionally, his mistress would show her dark and beautiful face and, guilt-ridden, he would start an affair with her unknown to his dedicated and loving spouse, Gold.

Even now, he wasn't really sure what name the object of his flirtations might go by. Risk would be suitable, but so would Danger. Definitely Daring. Whatever. The important thing (and only thing) he knew about this mistress was that she would turn up and demand his attention at the most inopportune of times. Namely on a job. It was difficult to imagine what might provoke her interest; perhaps the distantly-heard laugh of a woman from a high up window; maybe the brief scent of a man's cologne as he passed right by him, unaware of the magpie in the shadows. But there were two things that were always the same: this mistress, she loved danger. And she adored the idea of being deathly silent.

However, her antics had nearly led him to capture and death several times before. It was shameful really-he could evade the Thief-Taker General and all his traps or wander the Northcrest halls as if he owned them, but what would most likely end up being his downfall would be this dark and deadly need to push his boundaries and risk everything he knew just to satiate the basest of needs.

That night, he was crouched in the eaves of the House of Blossoms. He was still working the stiffness from his limbs after a year of sleep and anything that might help him to truly feel awake and alert again was welcome. He'd already reached the end of his meagre supply of coffee the week before and now he'd run out of ideas. The only thing that remained to him had totally slipped his mind, until the mistress greeted him again after their long vacation from one another.

He first felt it when he dropped down from the rafters, just behind a tumbling curtain of red silk. He could hear gentle footsteps beyond it, mild laughter further away in the cavernous rooms. Given the nature of the establishment, there were plenty of _other_ sounds adding to the ambience as well. He knew that Madame Xiao-Xiao used opium in the thick perfumes and incenses that laced the air and he trusted himself to be able to get the job done before his head began to swim. But something about the air in that place, on that night, brought to mind his mistress's perfume and realising this, he struggled to keep a grin off his face under his mask.

_Nice to see not everything's changed_. He crouched there for a moment or two, weighing his options carefully. He'd infiltrated the place without raising a single alarm or catching a glance of any sort. He could hide in the store room he was in, or behind any number of the elaborate wooden screens elsewhere. What could be the harm?

His body made the decision for him. He drew a deep breath of that opiate air, tasting perfume and spice and the thick scent of sweat and sex, as well as the familiar smell of the fabric pulled up over his face. He felt his nerves begin to light up, one by one, as his mistress lit candles in the plush, vaguely-worn manor he always imagined her in. Bringing back memories of teenage years when he and her would have to keep their meetings brief in the bathrooms or cupboards of the orphanage, he felt neglected areas of his body begin to stir. There was no desire in him to have any one of the women in this house, or any of the men either. His affections were for the mistress, and perhaps by extension only himself. He was wakened only by the idea of her; the nature of her more than the thought of any naked body beneath his hands other than his own. Then again, it wasn't surprising that a man who loved only the glitter of gold would only want to love himself.

He allowed her to guide him through that forgotten manor house. She had so much to show him, after the year that he'd been away. But she was forgiving and eager as she always was, and every detail of the brothel he could see before him evoked her in some way. The soft harp music being played in the rooms became her laugh; the sight of so much thick velvet and elegant drapery became her lavish dress. Before he allowed her to occupy him completely, he sucked in another breath of honeyed air and ducked out of the storeroom, into the space between a wooden screen and the stone wall. The roll was utterly silent and as he caught himself lightly from crashing into the screen, his palms spread behind him, he could hear her muffled giggle in his ear.

Already his heart was racing and all of a sudden his clothes were too tight, too constrictive, even though they'd been made with movement and stealth in mind. As his leathers shifted over his skin, they became her slender hands, so capable and strong. Every touch elicited a feeling, the waking of another nerve, the lighting of another candle.

He surveyed the room from his new position. The drapery over the front of the store room was now just falling back into place and he could hear very close the sounds of a couple exchanging lustful words, only the other side of the screen. He could hear the young woman's breath and suddenly, his mistress's hands were upon him and he felt himself swell beneath her touch. Deftly (he'd done this more times than he'd like to admit) he unlaced the front of his breeches and eased himself free. It felt as though this small action of undressing took forever, though in truth it was only half a second. He gently eased himself onto the stone floor and rested his back against the crates stacked there. Where he was, he could stay for almost as long as he wanted to.

He worked his hand free from his glove and gave himself a few long, lazy strokes just as she would have done. His toes curled in his boots and he looked up from what he was doing, as being an artist the mistress wouldn't have appreciated him watching her work. So he continued to imagine her hands and her sly pink mouth, the colour of her hair and eyes so firm in his mind's eye but also hardly there at all. Instead, he was watching the couple in the corner, across the room from him.

A young blossom was draped-yes, draped-over the lap of a burly man seated on a couch. Garrett could see perfectly how a tiny line formed between the blossom's shoulders as she moved her head up and down; how the man's chest went in and out as he heaved deep, silent breaths. Now and then she would make a gentle squeak or murmur or he would groan and always there was the sounds of harp music and conversation and footsteps and other couples having sex and suddenly she was no longer teasing him, instead doing her best to put him in danger purely for her own pleasure. That was just her nature, and Garrett loved and hated her in equal measure for it.

She would be as noisy as she dared, moving as fast or as slowly as she possibly could, depending on what was least appropriate for his position. Right then, only a foot or so away from a couple who were now fully engaged in each other on the other side of the screen and across the room from another, he could not afford to make a single sound-so naturally she was moving his hand as fast as she could get away with, loving every time he tensed at a noise he imagined he made or every time he stifled a groan.

The both of them were aroused by this place and the fact he wasn't supposed to be there; that he had to be silent and that any moment doing what he was doing could well be the last before he was discovered. He could feel the heat coiling in his pelvis much sooner than he had expected. She was demanding after a year spent away from him and only a minute after moving from the storage room, Garrett could feel his orgasm approaching like a freight train. He ordered himself and her (oh _god_ what a thought of her to have) to slow down so that he wouldn't cry out when he came. Reluctantly, she made him return to slow, languid strokes and each one made his knees begin to draw together briefly. His free hand clenched and unclenched on the stones and he was biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.

Hand shaking, he paused to gather a fist of velvet curtain from the back of the screen before returning to himself, relishing the luxurious feeling of her dress sliding and moving around him as she hitched up her skirts and took him inside her-

The heat suddenly exploded and he threw his head back, jaw clenched, restrained so he wouldn't make a thump and his folded legs spasming and chest heaving. It felt as though he spent an hour pouring himself into her and the folds of her clothing and there was a distant concern that the small folds of curtain wouldn't be enough to hold his essence.

She finished him off with those same soft strokes as she started with. But the need was waning quickly now and every heartbeat cleared his veins of her poisonous venom a little more and his mental image of her began to break down until the last he saw of her was a wide, mischievous grin being licked clean against a blank white canvas of thought. He missed her already and a little while after he had calmed down, the curtain falling from his hand, he heard his spouse coming home again, closing the door on that imaginary mansion.

Now that they were back, Garrett was ashamed of himself for having been weak enough to go with his mistress yet again and he swiftly and silently cleaned himself up and dressed himself. At least he was truly awake now and though he thought fondly of that nameless lover the rest of the night, he was glad to spend it back in the company of money and gold and uncountable riches as he stole through the brothel like a ghost, taking everything of value and stirring no dust as he went.

It was good that he was back. Now he and the two things he loved most could be together.

He didn't doubt that it would be long before he saw that mysterious mansion again though.


End file.
